


Doctor Feelgood

by notlucy, piglet_illustrations (thefilthiestpiglet)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal, Art, BDSM, Bottom Steve Rogers, But pretty tame medical kink, Butt Plugs, Domestic, Dorks in Love, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Light Bondage, M/M, Medical Kink, Mostly just goofy roleplay, NSFW Art, POV Steve Rogers, Post-Coital Cuddling, Praise Kink, Roleplay, Sex, Sexual Fantasy, Vibrators, light humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-08 16:06:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14109048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notlucy/pseuds/notlucy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefilthiestpiglet/pseuds/piglet_illustrations
Summary: Things are practically perfect, as far as Steve’s concerned. He and Bucky are happy. Healthy. Working through their shit and living a normal life in Brooklyn. Said normality extends to their nice, regular, fulfilling sex life. Which isn't to say it’s perfect - maybe Steve has a fantasy or two he hasn’t shared. Certain proclivities he’s happy to indulge privately. Why bother Bucky?It’s fine. Really. Until the day Bucky comes home early and catches Steve with his pants down. Literally.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Kink Bang collaboration between myself (notlucy) and thefilthiestpiglet. who picked my prompt and created FOUR incredible pieces of art. The story will post in three parts over the course of the next few days, with the final chapter posted on Thursday the 29th. NSFW images will all be in Chapter 3. Thanks for reading, and we hope you enjoy!

Steve liked the Internet for plenty of reasons - historical research, catching up on the culture he’d missed, diving deep into current events and, admittedly, Netflix. He liked watching cooking videos, where disembodied hands made delicious-looking comfort food in fast motion, endlessly churning out savory dishes and desserts that would make anyone’s mouth water. He liked finding new artists, visiting their blogs and occasionally buying a commission or two. He liked watching old Benny Goodman videos on YouTube, reminding him of the days he and Bucky would ditch school to take in a double feature, Benny’s songs playing in-between.

And then there was the pornography. Steve liked that, too.

Truth be told, he’d always been interested in seamier things, sneaking dirty comics under his pillow, hoarding photographs of pretty girls in the altogether which had been traded like contraband in the schoolyard. Even when he’d gotten the real thing - awkward handjobs under the covers of Bucky’s bed - he hadn’t given up the pornography. The real thing was great. Shit, it was better than great: it was a dream come true. But there were particular proclivities one couldn’t just _tell_ one’s paramour. Certain discreet desires.

So yeah, Steve liked the Internet. The way he could type his filthiest thoughts into the little white box and find videos of real, live people partaking in things he’d only dreamed about. Whips and paddles and chains - oh my. Men bent over someone’s knee, women suspended in intricate rope patterns. Weird stuff, group stuff, humiliating stuff that lit Steve up inside and twisted him with guilt at the same time. Because part of him - the small, funny part that wanted to be a good boy, wanted to go to confession and admit just what he’d been fantasizing about - thought it was wrong, to want what he wanted.

Especially now that he had Bucky back. He ought to have been happy. Hell, he _was_ happy.

Mostly.

But when Bucky went to therapy? Or to train with Natasha? Or just to shoot the shit with Sam? Steve gave into his baser desires. He’d take out the tablet, along with a bottle of lube and a couple of washcloths, then go for a deep dive into the depravity he was too shy to share.

Which was what he was doing on the Tuesday it all went to shit. Bucky had left the house for therapy about forty minutes earlier, and Steve was relaxed on the couch, sweats pushed down around his thighs, fisting himself with the laziness of a man who had time to spare. His search had been a bit of a rabbit hole, starting with brunettes. Men, this time, not women, as he’d exhausted the femdom category the week before, searching for pretty brown-haired women with red lipstick who teased their partners mercilessly.

His search had led him to a video of a military inspection, which had been interesting but hadn’t quite scratched the itch. However, the idea of inspection had piqued his interest, and he’d scrolled to related videos, finding a whole series of physical examination clips. As in, a doctor’s office, a compliant patient, and the soothing competence of a faux-MD who had to do all sorts of filthy things to ensure their subject’s health and well-being.

None of the doctors looked like Bucky, but Steve could make do.

He’d already come once, jizz still drying on his stomach as he worked himself back up. Stamina wasn’t bad - he could usually get off two or three times before Bucky got home. Four, once, but that had been an exceptional day.

On the screen, the doctor had his hand wrapped around his patient’s prick, teasing the kid (well, not really a kid, but younger than Steve) as he squirmed on the exam table. They both looked like they were having fun, even if the kid’s hands were tied behind his back. For legitimate medical reasons, apparently.

Steve was having fun trying to match the doctor’s rhythm when he heard the sound of a key in the front door. Which meant Bucky was back. Walking into the foyer like he lived there.

Which, yes, of course he lived there. But he was supposed to be at _therapy_.

Instinct kicked in, and Steve let out a strangled noise, attempting to both cover himself and mute the tablet in one fell swoop. Every ounce of agility he’d acquired with the serum failed him, and what he ended up doing instead was yanking a pillow over his lap with such vigor that it sent the tablet flying, skidding to a stop on the hardwood near the living room doorway.

The doorway which Bucky darkened approximately two seconds later, looking very cute in one of Steve’s own hoodies, which somehow made it worse.

The goddamn video was still playing.

 

 

“Hey, Steve, I…” Bucky took in the scene, and since he never missed a fucking thing, he knew something was off quickly enough. “Uh. Steve?”

This was it. He’d survived Nazis, HYDRA, being frozen for seventy years, the Chitauri, Ultron, Sokovia, Siberia, and Thanos. But not this. This was going to be the thing that did him in.

“Are you…” Bucky crouched down, picking up the tablet and holding it at arm’s length. Any minute now, the earth was going to open up and swallow Steve whole. He was sure of it. “ _Steve_ ,” Bucky said, the world’s most shit-eating grin spreading across his smartass face. “Is this _porn_.”

“Nope,” Steve lied, wishing his dick would take a hint and simmer the fuck down.

“Well, it sure as shit ain’t any episode of _Grey’s Anatomy_ I’ve ever seen,” Bucky replied solemnly, eyes still fixed on the screen. Bucky watched a lot of syndicated television. Steve hated Bucky.

“Shut up,” Steve said, “give it back.”

It wasn’t going to happen - Bucky was on a roll, amusing the hell out of himself as he glanced at Steve over the top of the tablet. “Ooh doctor, _yes_ , examine me! _Probe_ me!”

“Shut _up_ ,” Steve repeated, chest tight. He could handle Bucky making fun of him. Bucky made fun of him all the time. This didn’t have to be different. He could be calm. He wasn’t going to blush.

“Aw, sugar, you need an exam?” Bucky snorted, clicking the button on the side of the tablet to turn it off.

“Buck, knock it off,” Steve warned, as Bucky stepped closer, setting the tablet down on the coffee table.

“I mean it,” he grinned. “Want me to be your nurse? Get a little outfit?”

“ _Don’t._ ” His voice came out strangled, and he wished he were a different person. That he could laugh it off and tease Bucky right back. Bucky wouldn’t give a shit - it was one of the things Steve liked most about him. Steve gave too much of a shit, that was his problem.

Bucky sobered at the tone, his expression softening. “Hey…” At least it wasn't pitying. “Steve, I’m just kidding. It’s...porn. I don’t care what you watch.”

Steve shifted away when Bucky sat next to him, face burning because his goddamn sweats were still around his knees and there was no way Bucky didn’t know _exactly_ what was going on under the pillow.

“You were supposed to be at therapy,” he muttered, not quite able to meet Bucky’s eyes.

“Yup,” he agreed. “But one of her kids got sick, and they forgot to cancel, so I just came home.”

“Oh.”

“Hey,” Bucky inched closer, knocking his knee against Steve’s. “Sorry, pal. Didn’t mean to interrupt, honest.”

Steve sighed and closed his eyes briefly, inhaling and lifting his chin. “That’s...I was just bored. It’s no big deal.”

“Yeah, no, I know,” Bucky said, waving his hand. “I’m the one with the sex therapist, right?”

That was true, and God knew it had taken time for Bucky to feel comfortable with his body being something he could use to feel pleasure, not merely a vehicle for pain, torture, and abuse. They’d spent the past year working on it together, in fact, and while things weren’t perfect, their (normal, totally normal) sex life was healthy, happy, and most of all frequent.

“Just...didn’t want to bother you with uh…” Steve gestured at his lap.

Bucky snorted. “Yeah, that’s not a bother. Hate to break it to ya, Rogers, but I kinda like it.”

Steve glared, though not with any real malice. “That’s not what I meant, asshole.”

“Sure,” Bucky said, closing the last few inches remaining between them to kiss Steve’s cheek. He lay his hand on the pillow, pressing down lightly and arching an eyebrow. “Lemme make it up to you?”

Steve wasn’t about to say no.

Thirty minutes later - post suck job and shower - Steve headed into the kitchen to find Bucky putting the finishing touches on a couple sandwiches, which wasn’t a surprise. Bucky had developed an obsession with the Italian deli around the corner, claiming it reminded him of home. Real home, the one Steve remembered with perfect clarity, and the one Bucky caught occasional glimpses of in his muddled mind. He was always bringing home weird meats and cheeses, along with bread from a nearby bakery. He’d taught himself to cook elaborate, ridiculous meals, which was impressive from a guy who’d relied heavily on Winifred Barnes’ leftovers during the years they’d shared their tiny bachelor apartment.

Not that Steve was complaining - he liked to eat.

They settled in at the counter with their hoagies, the earlier incident wholly forgotten. Food was good, the afternoon was good, maybe they could go for a run, or -

“So are you into that kinda thing?”

Steve choked on the pastrami, reaching for his water and taking a desperate swallow. “What? No!”

Bucky blinked. “So you’re _not_ into doctors?”

“I’m. It’s. It’s not...geez,” Steve swiped a hand across his forehead, knocking back a loose piece of hair. “It was just a video.”

“That you were shooting white over,” Bucky said, before taking another bite of his sandwich.

“It doesn’t matter.”

Bucky chewed and swallowed, considering Steve’s statement in a way that indicated he wasn’t anywhere near done talking about it. “It does matter, actually. If it’s something you like…”

It was hard not to squirm in his seat when Bucky put it like that. Because of course he liked it. For so many different reasons. But explaining it - saying it out loud? It felt wrong. Like a betrayal of what he and Bucky had.

“I dunno, Buck,” he muttered. “Just...it was some dumb video. Messing around, you know?”

Bucky kept working on his food, methodically chewing and swallowing. He polished off half his sandwich before reaching over and laying a hand on Steve’s knee, squeezing lightly. “Yeah,” he said. “Sure, Steve.”

He let the issue drop, and Steve hoped they were done. 

They weren’t. Three days later they were in bed, Steve sitting up against the headboard reading a romance novel Natasha had insisted would change his life while Bucky reclined on his pillow, watching something stupid on his phone with headphones in.

Whatever it was finished, and Bucky pulled out one of the headphones and looked up at Steve. “Hey.”

“Hey is for horses.”

Bucky flipped him the bird before continuing. “You’re an idiot. Can I tell you something and you won’t get mad at me?”

Steve laughed at that, sticking a bookmark in before setting his novel on the nightstand. “Dunno. Kinda seems like if you’ve gotta warn me…”

Bucky snorted, sitting up and pulling the second earbud out. “Just...don’t get mad, or try not to be a shit about it. But, I looked at your uh...history. On the tablet.”

That was unexpected. Bucky’d had issues with boundaries and privacy in the past - he had a hard time grasping certain nuances of behavior, and he asked all sorts of questions at inappropriate times. But he sure as shit understood the difference between right and wrong in a general sense. “Bucky, that’s _private_. You can’t…”

“Well, I did,” he replied, chin jutting out in defiance - same way it had been doing since he was a punk kid. Sure, Steve was a scrapper, but Bucky had his own stubborn streak when it came to taking care of Steve. “You were lying before, about what you were into. Now I know, and I’m not sorry.”

“Bucky…” his voice came out low. Angry. He ought to have been angrier, but mostly he was ashamed of himself. Embarrassed. His heart thumping away while a hot flush crept up his neck.  “It’s because. It’s not…”

“Normal?” Bucky shrugged. “Steve, that’s shit. I spent six months in Wakanda afraid to touch myself, thinking I’d get a stun baton to the ribs. First time we fucked, I cried. And the second, and the third…”

“Yeah, I was there,” he bit out. “Don’t change the subj-”

“None of this is _normal_ , you dumbass,” Bucky shot back. “But if you can’t tell me what you want then how the hell am I supposed to make you happy?”

“It’s not about that!”

“The happy fuck it’s not!”

“Bucky, you don’t cry anymore! And these things I want...that I like. I don’t want to...fuck you up again.”

That struck a nerve, and Bucky went quiet, thinking it over. “Is it...do you want to hurt me, is that what it is? Cause it didn’t look like…”

“No!” That was easy. It wasn’t that.

“Alright,” Bucky pressed. “Do you want me to hurt you?”

A little. Bucky reached for his hand, and Steve exhaled, trying to find the words. “Not hurt,” he said eventually, looking down at his lap. “But it’s...since the serum. Since the war. I didn’t...before. Not really. But…”

Bucky was silent. Gave him time to think it through. The goddamn patience of a saint, that one.

“...I think,” he continued. “I’m always thinking about the next move. The next fight? So having someone...think for me? That’s...that’s it, Buck. That’s all. The doctor shit was just...someone else in charge, you know?”

That was it, the honest truth. He wanted to be vulnerable. Taken care of. Wanted to be good without the weight of making decisions resting on his shoulders. It wasn’t about pain, or punishment, not really. It was control - the loss of it - plain and simple.

“I’m sorry I looked at your history,” Bucky said, breaking the silence. “I’m not sorry for what I found.” His face softened into that funny, crooked smile that made it easy to kiss him, so Steve did, leaning in and catching just the corner of his mouth. Bucky let him do it, then pulled away and looked him right in the eyes. “You give me everything I need. I just...want to make sure you’re getting what you need, too.”

“Bucky…” he began, only to be silenced with another kiss - a firm one, Bucky placing his metal hand on Steve’s chest.

“Shh,” he muttered against Steve’s mouth. “You’re done talkin’.”

There was no mistaking the thrill of arousal that ran through Steve’s veins, dick perking up against the thin cotton of his pajama pants. Bucky moved quickly, straddling his hips, deepening the kiss and pushing the fingers of both hands into Steve’s hair.

Fingers which tightened a moment later, forcing his head back as Bucky broke the kiss, looking down at him with a grin that was nothing short of predatory. “You’re gonna take your clothes off now,” he said. “And then I’m gonna do whatever I want to you.”

Steve groaned, and yeah, a little more discussion would have been good, but his cock wasn’t getting _less_ hard, so fuck it. They’d figure it out as they went.

“Yeah, alright,” he agreed.

Bucky’s flesh hand left his hair and moved down to grip his chin. “Bit more respect there, Cap,” he said, hips grinding down onto Steve’s and oh, he was half-hard, too. He _liked_ this.

“Uh.” Steve’s brain wasn’t working. “Yes, sir?”

Bucky patted his cheek harder than was strictly necessary before releasing him.

Turned out, Bucky was pretty good at giving orders. Steve was half-decent at following them, but it was a learning process. The next few weeks were a lot of fun for both of them, in fact, figuring it out together.

Steve was thrilled.

So thrilled that he’d nearly forgotten about the whole reason they’d started playing around in the first place. Forgotten the doctor, the exam table, the stethoscope, and the lab coat.

Forgotten, that was, until he got home from his run one morning about three weeks later and found an envelope waiting for him on the hall table. It was addressed to Captain Steven G. Rogers, with a return address of the Buchanan Medical Group. There wasn’t a stamp.

Bucky had officially lost his mind.

Steve was fine with that.


	2. Chapter 2

Bucky was ridiculous. Perhaps the most ridiculous human being on the planet. No, worse than that: Steve now knew several aliens, including a talking raccoon. Bucky was the most ridiculous thing in the _universe_.

Because he had sent Steve a letter. On stationery with a letterhead. Where had he gotten fake letterhead stationery made? More importantly: had the delay between their discussion and the arrival of this letter only been because Bucky was seeking the perfect shade of ecru?

Steve couldn’t keep from grinning as he sat down on the couch with his breakfast, having delayed his gratification for a full twenty minutes, the anticipation of what the letter said almost better than actually reading it.

Almost.

 

> _Mr. Rogers,_
> 
> _Please be advised that your appointment with Dr. J.B. Barnes, Esquire…_

 

Steve snorted around his bagel. _Esquire_. Jesus, Bucky.

>  
> 
> _...will take place one week from Saturday at 7pm. In exam room five in sub-basement two of the Avengers training facility_.

 

Hell no. Steve wasn’t doing shit in official facilities. Didn’t care what Bucky had planned.

>  
> 
> _If you don’t show up, I’ll be forced to alert building security, which will result in at least ten of your closest friends coming to our room and escorting you. Don’t think I won’t._

 

He wouldn’t. He _wouldn’t_. But, well. Maybe. They could be discreet. FRIDAY wasn’t one to spill state secrets.

>  
> 
> _Please stop overthinking this, Mr. Rogers. I know that’s what you’re doing right now, because I’m good at my job. Stop. It will be a private and above board examination_. _**I AM A PROFESSIONAL**._

 

The fact he’d typed that in bold, capitalized font really did seem professional, Steve had to admit.

>  
> 
> _In addition, please fill out all the paperwork attached in triplicate (note: Dr. Barnes does not know what in triplicate means)..._

 

God damn it. He was going to choke on his bagel.

>  
> 
> ... _and return it to our offices by leaving it someplace obvious. Please also be advised that Dr. Barnes went online and learned about safewords which sound stupid but Natasha said you should at least have one. (No, I didn’t give her specifics, calm down.) If you want one please write it on the paper, otherwise I’ll assume you’re a functional adult and can tell me if the exam isn’t working for you._
> 
> _Your faithful servant,_ _  
>  _ _Dr. J.B. Barnes, Esquire, Doomsman of the Valar, King Under the Mountain, etc. etc._

 

“Idiot,” Steve muttered. They’d read _The Hobbit_ as teenagers, and over the past year, they’d worked through _The Lord of the Rings._ Steve had stopped there, but Bucky was lately obsessed with _The Silmarillion_ , which Steve felt was a bit like being obsessed with the boring parts of the Bible. However, he didn’t begrudge Bucky his fun.

The attached paperwork was ultimately what caused the demise of his bagel - crushed into a tiny ball of crumbs and cream cheese when he skimmed the sheets and found a printed out list of approximately one million things Bucky might choose to do with him, alongside scales from one to ten where he could indicate his interest.

Steve was seriously reevaluating how much he liked the Internet.

His eyes caught on some things he liked (in theory, at least), then some things he didn’t, then some things that were goddamn headscratchers. Felching? Cupping? Shibari? First one sounded like an upset stomach and the latter like a dog breed.

In the end, he drew circles around a few tens and left the rest blank, overwhelmed and bothered, though it took a minute for him to realize why. When it came down to it, he didn’t _want_ to overthink what Bucky might do to him. He wanted the opportunity to shut up and listen - have Bucky tell him what to do while he squirmed in embarrassment. What those things were didn’t much matter.

Turning the original letter over, he scrawled a note on the back, hoping to convey some of that to Bucky, though his prose was awkward and his mind muddled.

>  
> 
> _Dear Dr. Barnes,_
> 
> _Since you are the doctor and the one diagnosing me, I don’t want to do too much of your job for you. I’m sure I will like what you do and if I don’t, my ‘safe’ word is brillo cause if I’m hollering that I guess I’m not feeling too well. Thanks for agreeing to see me on short notice. If Natasha is your nurse I’m going to murder you._

 

He hesitated, chewing on the tip of the pen before finishing.

>  
> 
> _I know I’m not an easy patient but I’m sure you’re a good doctor._
> 
> _Respectfully,_ _  
>  _ _Capt. Steven G. Rogers of Bag End, Bagshot Row, Hobbiton_

 

He stuffed the marked up pages back into the envelope before he could second-guess himself and left it in Bucky’s cabinet of sugary-sweet trash food, wedged on top of a box of Newman-O’s (because according to Natasha, food could be ethical. Some days in the future were harder than others.)

After that, it was radio silence, but Bucky had always been sly. Before the war, when he and Steve had been bunking up - two idiots sharing cramped quarters - Bucky would walk around with a secret for weeks, then surprise Steve with Dodgers’ tickets or a new set of charcoals. Bucky made a game out of his gifts - never made it feel like charity - just handed things over with practiced nonchalance. These days, everyone thought his cool demeanor was the product of his years spent as the soldier, conditioned and brainwashed into perfect control, but the truth was that he had always been perfectly capable of feigning normality to give Steve something spectacular.

This time, though, Steve knew what was coming, which made Bucky’s flip attitude infuriating and enticing all at once. Bucky ran with him in the mornings, went to therapy precisely four times, fought with him twice over dinner plans, and fucked him in some fashion nearly every night.

Nothing out of the ordinary for ol’ Bucky Barnes, oh no.

When Bucky finally - _finally_ \- came to him on Friday afternoon feigning trouble with his arm, it was a blessed relief.

“Gotta go upstate for the weekend,” he said, pointing to some invisible damage. “Tony’s no Shuri, but I’d like him to take a look at this.”

“Uh, yup,” Steve agreed.

So they went, settling into their spartan quarters and spending Friday night catching up with Sam and Natasha.

Bucky, committed to the end, had Tony look at his arm the next morning. Despite a plethora of distractions, Steve was a bundle of nerves all day, to the point Sam called him out on it. Stealth was never going to be Steve’s strong suit.

Bucky disappeared with a kiss and a smile at about five o’clock.  “Don’t wait up for me,’ he said. “I’ll be out late.”

Steve wanted to make a joke, but the words caught in his throat. He nodded instead, smiling as much as he could manage. “Yeah, Buck,” he said. “See ya.”

The next two hours went by at a glacial pace. At one point, Steve was sure the clock on the wall was running _backward_. Granted, it was a digital display, but he was certain it had read 6:11 before, and now it was only 6:01.

Worrying about what to wear to a fake doctor’s appointment ate up a good ten minutes. In the end, he kept on the jeans and t-shirt he’d been wearing all day. It was probably fine. Bucky liked his jeans, even if Tony had some choice things to say about the placement of the waist.

At 6:37, he pushed himself up from the couch and crossed his arms over his chest. “Just be early,” he muttered. “I’ll just do that.”

If FRIDAY heard him, she kept it to herself.

There weren’t many people walking the halls so late on a Saturday, but the facility was never truly empty, and he passed various and sundry people. Luckily, he didn’t run into any extremely familiar faces - he wasn’t sure he could handle a teammate right at that moment.

Two lab techs in white coats passed him, suppressing their giggles. Surely they couldn’t tell what he was about to do? No, definitely not. People giggled at him a lot - apparently, it had to do with the shirts he wore. Steve didn’t get it, but Bucky had mumbled something about buying the cow a time or two.

Right. Bucky. Didn’t matter about the giggling techs because this was about Bucky. Or, rather, it was about what Bucky was doing for Steve. Bucky liked him - Bucky _loved_ him - though maybe that meant he was only doing this out of some sense of misguided obligation.

No. Wasn’t possible. Bucky never did anything he didn’t want to these days.

That thought was a comfort as he took the elevator to sub-basement two, finding it deserted. It was eerie, being down there alone, footsteps echoing in the dim, cavernous hallway. The last time he’d been in this part of the facility was after a mission that left him with a chunk of shrapnel lodged in his gut.

Alright, more than a chunk. Half a bridge worth of rebar, more or less, Steve's healing factor doing its best to staunch the flow of blood while the doctors worked and Bucky yelled at him about what a dumb fucker he was until Natasha dragged him away.

Steve was pretty sure he’d never be able to set foot on this floor again without turning into a tomato, so he was going to have to be more careful the next time a doomsday device got planted on the Triborough Bridge.

Perhaps that had been Bucky’s plan all along.

Exam room five was at the end of the hall, a shaft of light from the cracked door spilling onto the concrete floor. Taking a deep breath, he swallowed his apprehensions and walked the last few steps to the exam room, knocking on the doorframe.

“Come on in.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter that has NSFW art embedded. Scroll at your own risk!

Bucky was wearing a lab coat. Jesus H. Christ on a cracker. Buck was wearing a lab coat, and Steve wasn’t going to make it through this. Hell, he was barely making it into the room, feet forgetting what it meant to walk forward when he noticed the stethoscope hanging around Bucky’s neck.

“Captain Rogers,” Bucky said, leaning cool as a cucumber against the exam table that dominated the small room. “Glad you could make it.”

“Um,” Steve replied, eloquently.

“I’m afraid it’s just me today - my nurse has the flu. Darndest thing. But I checked the notes, and you’re here for the full workup?”

Steve’s brain had abandoned him - waved toodle-oo as it skipped merrily out the door, leaving him gormless and confused, unable to form even the most basic sentences. Bucky looked like a _doctor_. Even sounded like one, all stupid platitudes and false cheer.

“Um,” he repeated, before clearing his throat. “Yes.”

“Grrrreat,” Bucky said, drawing out the word as he crossed to the small desk that sat along one wall. The room was spartan and clinical, which made sense - nobody was coming here to see a family physician. If you were in the sub-basement of the facility, chances were you’d seen some shit. So when Bucky picked up a clipboard full of official looking ‘charts,’ Steve knew he must have scouted props. It was relaxing, in a way, the idea that Bucky had put some effort into thinking through what he’d need. Like maybe Bucky was enjoying some aspect of this, too.

“Why don’t you have a seat, Captain,” Bucky continued. “Got a couple of questions before we get started.”

“Alright.” God, were his palms sweating? That was ridiculous. He sat, wiping his hands on his jeans and swallowing around the lump in his throat.

“So.” Bucky sat down on the same round rolling chair that had been in every doctor’s office Steve had ever visited. “Says here you’re...wow, hundred years old. Gotta say, Cap, you look pretty good for your age. Do you work out?”

Steve snorted, and Bucky winked, which was so cheesy that it did just what it was intended to do - Steve unclenched, albeit by a mere fraction of an inch. This was a game. Bucky was doing it for him. “Uh, I do work out,” he said, proud of himself for getting out a complete sentence. Everything was fine. Normal. Relatively speaking. “You can call me Steve if you want.”

Bucky clicked his pen and made a mark on the paper. “Whatever you’re most comfortable with, Steve.” He looked up, smiling his most charming smile, which usually meant trouble. “Gonna get your vitals in a second, but can you give me a best guess on your height and weight?”

“Six-two,” he said. Easy enough. “Somewhere around two-forty?”

“Huh,” Bucky said, scribbling something else down. “Guess you’re an outlier. Muscle mass and all.”

Steve had no idea what the hell that meant, so he shrugged, knocking the heel of his left shoe against the toe of his right, hands gripping the edge of the chair. “Sure, doc.”

A slight smile twitched the corners of Bucky’s mouth before he got right back to business. “Any medications you’re taking?”

“Nope.”

“Chronic pain? Old injuries bothering you?”

“...not really.”

“Great.” Bucky made a note, then looked up. “Trouble sleeping?”

“Sometimes,” he said, not wanting to lie. Bucky slept in the same goddamn bed, after all.

“I see. Would you say you’re under an extreme level of stress?”

Steve gave him a _look_ and tried not to smile. “My occupation is...occasionally stressful, yes.”

“Gotta keep an eye on that, Steve,” Bucky said, clicking his pen twice before reaching over and tapping Steve on the knee with it. “Stress is bad for the ticker. Maybe you ought to think about changing your line of work.”

Typical. They weren’t having that fight in the middle of his fantasy. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he replied. “Anything else?”

Bucky didn’t bother trying to hide his smile that time. “Are you sexually active?”

The question took him by surprise, causing him to blush, which was patently ridiculous, considering he was talking to his boyfriend. But it was _different_. “Don’t see why you need to…”

“It’s extremely important that you give me your full history, Captain.” Bucky’s voice had an edge, sending a pleasant shiver down Steve’s spine. “Don’t be difficult.”

Steve squirmed, bringing a hand up to rub the back of his neck. “Sorry. I am. Sexually active, that is. I have a boyfriend?”

“Uh huh,” Bucky glanced up at him, a gleam of _something_ in his eye. “So what are we talking, huh? Oral, anal, little bit of both?”

No doctor in the world was going to phrase the question like that - Bucky fucking Barnes, on the other hand. Steve glared, but Bucky refused to look anything other than pleased with himself. “Um. Both.”

“Giving or receiving?”

“Jesus,” he muttered. The tips of his ears were hot, and he was sure he was blushing red everywhere. “Receiving. And giving. For the uh...you know. Oral. But typically...receiving. For. The, um. Other?”

“Mmmhmm, mmmhmm,” Bucky murmured, scribbling away with his pen, crossing his left leg over his right, ankle resting on his knee. “And how often would you say you’re _receiving_ anal sex, Steve?”

Piece of shit. Steve hated him. Loved him. Was getting exactly what he’d signed up for. And, hell, Steve Rogers was nothing if not capable of giving as good as he got. “Depends on the day, Doc.”

A click of the pen, Bucky’s shiny loafer (where the fuck had he gotten loafers?) bouncing against his leg. “And do you practice safe sex?”

“Yes.” That one was easy.

“Good, we can skip the STD test. What about masturbation?”

“What about it?”

“How often?”

“Oh.” That was something Bucky didn’t know, funnily enough. Until he’d been caught with his pants down - literally - Steve had kept his serum-enhanced needs to himself. “Couple times a day, usually, maybe three or four if I’m on my own?”

“Huh,” Bucky’s head snapped up, his expression caught somewhere between surprise and confusion. “Even with this...guy. Your boyfriend around? You’re doing it that much?”

There was that guilty conscience; he hadn’t wanted to make Bucky feel weird, but he also never wanted to lie to him. Not when he’d spent so much time being lied to. “It’s just...it doesn’t take much to get me going these days. Sometimes I take care of it myself. Don’t like to bother him.”

“That’s normal,” Bucky said, tapping the clipboard and looking up at the ceiling, parsing his words the way he sometimes did when he was trying to find the right thing to say. “I don’t think he’d be...mad that you’re doing it, or anything like that. Maybe just...he might wish you told him things. Sometimes. If you wanted to.”

Bucky was sweet, and Steve appreciated the gesture. “Sure, doc,” he agreed. “Any other questions?”

“Nope.” Bucky rolled over to the desk, setting the clipboard down before turning back to Steve with a grin. “All done with the preliminaries. Ready to get this over with?”

Theoretically, yes. “Sure.”

“Great,” Bucky said, all casual-like as he leaned one arm against the desk. “Go ahead and get undressed, then we’ll get started.”

The command was casual but sure, and Steve’s dick - which hadn’t shown much interest in anything yet - perked right up. “So...everything off?”

Bucky chuckled - honest to god _chuckled_ like a bad impersonation of a Jimmy Stewart picture - shaking his head. “You can keep your socks on if you’re worried about cold feet.”

“Is there,” Steve took a breath, his voice sounding the slightest bit strained. “Usually there’s a gown?”

“I’m afraid not. Anyhow, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before in this line of work, Captain Rogers.” Bucky fixed him with a hard stare. “And let’s be quick about it - I’m a busy man, I don’t have all day.”

Steve closed his eyes as Bucky turned back to the desk. It wasn’t as though this was his first time being naked in front of Bucky. Hell, he’d been naked in front of plenty of people. He’d been in the army, been through boot camp. He’d been stripped down, poked and prodded so many times during the testing for Project Rebirth that he’d lost all sense of shame. But doing it here, for Bucky? It was different. Humiliating.

Which, of course, he liked. Got off on it, in fact. Or at least he would if things went according to plan. But first, he had to do it, so he toed off his sneakers, then pulled his t-shirt over his head. Bucky had been the slob in their younger years, but lately they were both fairly fastidious about neatness, so Steve folded the shirt and put it on the chair before doing the same with his jeans. Regardless of Bucky’s concessions, he felt ridiculous in his socks, so he reached down to pull one off, then the other. That left him in his boxers, and he waited to see if Bucky would look. Comment. Acknowledge him in the slightest.

Bucky had no such intentions as he sat, angled away, pretending to scribble something on his clipboard. Steve blew out a breath and took off his boxers, setting them on the chair and turning back to face the room.

Christ, he’d never thought disregarding someone could be torture before, but as he stood there, trying not to squirm, naked as the day he came into the world, he was overcome with the desire to hide. There was a lot of metal in the room. Lots of cold surfaces. Instinctively, his hands came to rest in front of his crotch, cupping himself for modesty and warmth, waiting for Bucky to pay him some goddamn attention.

It took a while. Not the eternity it felt like, but it was at least a couple minutes of silence before Bucky glanced over. “Cold, Steve?” Fucker didn’t even smirk. “Sorry - thermostat’s busted.”

“Great.”

Bucky stood, crossing to the beam scale against the opposite wall. It was a familiar sight - weights and bars instead of a digital readout. “Hop on up.”

Steve did, standing on the platform while Bucky nudged the weights around. Then nudged them again. Then a few more times for good measure and damn it, getting his weight didn’t require a Ph.D. in nuclear physics.

“Two thirty-six,” Bucky said eventually, not bothering to write it down anywhere. “Sit up on the table, we’ll get your blood pressure.”

The exam table was standard issue - padded and covered with paper that never stayed in place and only served to make the examinee more nervous. Steve perched as gingerly as he was able, bare ass crinkling the paper underneath it, while Bucky went to a drawer in the desk and pulled out a blood pressure doohickey, walking back over with it and his clipboard.

It became apparent fairly soon after that Bucky had no idea how the thing worked. He wrapped the too-small cuff around Steve’s upper arm, pumping the pump a few times and making a couple “mmmhmm” noises while he pretended to study the number.

“Little high,” he proclaimed, ripping the velcro and releasing Steve’s arm. “Might just be nerves.”

“Uh, yup,” Steve nodded. “Probably right about that one, doc.”

“Nothing to be nervous about,” Bucky, an asshole, replied, before sitting down on the rolling chair and making a bunch of bullshit notes on the chart, leaving Steve to wait for another interminable period of time.

 

 

“Let’s take a listen to the ol' ticker, shall we?” Bucky got to his feet eventually, pulling the stethoscope from around his neck.

Steve cast his eyes heavenward as Bucky stuck the ends of the stethoscope in his ears before pressing the cold instrument right against Steve’s left nipple.

“Jesus Christ!”

“Whoopsie-daisy!” Bucky wasn’t funny. “Shoulda warned you. Still, can’t have you running away on me - you jump like that again, I might have to strap you down.”

Damn it, Bucky. Steve’s dick visibly twitched at the idea, doubly so when Bucky repeated the stethoscope nonsense on the right side of his chest. The metal was no warmer, but at least he was prepared.

“Heart sounds real healthy,” Bucky declared approximately three seconds later. Highly dubious medical practices, in Steve’s opinion. Funny, though. Especially when he got out one of the little flashlight things real doctors were always using to check Steve’s pupils after he’d done something brave (“stupid,” Bucky in his head supplied). He shone the light into Steve’s eyes, his nose, and his ears in turn which was too hilarious to be humiliating.

“You got a lot of earwax crusted in there,” Bucky proclaimed, pulling back from where he’d been thoroughly investigating Steve’s left ear. “Your boyfriend probably thinks that’s disgusting.”

“My boyfriend knows when to keep his opinions to himself.”

“Uh huh,” Bucky said, clapping a hand on Steve’s shoulder and giving him a devious smile. “Gotta take your temperature. Roll over.”

Steve was sure he’d misheard. “What?”

“I need. To take. Your temperature,” Bucky repeated, slowly. “So roll over.”

No fucking way was Bucky taking his temperature like he was a little kid. “Don’t you have a regular thermometer?” A futile question, he realized, when Bucky’s grin spread.

“Sorry, Cap,” Bucky said, patting his shoulder. “We want to make sure we get an accurate reading, don’t we?”

“Uh.”

“And hey, you’re a sexually active guy. Might not even feel it going in, right?”

It was a funny feeling, wanting to kill your beloved and at the same time being completely turned on by them. Steve was residing comfortably in that zone as he stood up and turned around, then stretched himself across the table, feet firmly planted on the floor.

“All the way up.” Because of course, Bucky was going to make it worse.

Closing his eyes, Steve pushed himself further onto the table, which was too short for him. He felt like an idiot with his bare calves hanging out into space until Bucky pulled up a padded extension to support them.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

“Always happy to help.”

Steve rolled his eyes and turned his head to the side, pillowing his cheek on folded hands and coming face to face with a strategically placed box of latex gloves. Which meant, of course, he had a prime view of his doctor pulling one out and snapping it into place like a bad cliche, metal fingers surprisingly dextrous with the fragile latex.

There was also a tub of petroleum jelly because Bucky was going for accuracy over comfort. He disappeared behind Steve after picking up the container, and Steve could hear the sound of the lid when it opened. The sound the lube made when Bucky stuck his fingers in. Steve’s stomach flipped over, and he tried to think of something else.

“You’re going to feel my hand,” Bucky said, and yup, two metal fingers were parting his cheeks and one latex-covered finger spreading the lube around his hole. On the plus side, his prick was fattening up nicely, pleased as punch with the attention. Usually, when Bucky started opening him up, it meant good things were coming.

Which, in a way, they were.

Despite Bucky’s medical wisdom, Steve could feel the slim thermometer when it was pushed inside. It didn’t feel like much, but knowing it was there - thinking about what he looked like with it inserted - had his face burning.

“Good boy,” Bucky said, resting a hand on Steve’s upper thigh. Steve bit back a moan at the praise, while Bucky cleared his throat. “Just uh...clench down on that, wouldja? Can’t have you losing it.”

Jerk. Steve did what he was told, letting out a shaky breath as he tightened his muscles.

“Better,” Bucky said, latex-covered fingers rubbing slow, easy circles on Steve’s thigh, which was a comfort. “You’re tight, all things considered.”

“Boyfriend’s a real needle dick,” Steve replied, which led to Bucky smacking him on the ass. Hard. “Hey!”

“Oops, hand slipped.” Steve could _hear_ the smirk on his obnoxiously handsome face. “Sorry about that, Cap. So unprofessional of me.”

Bucky stayed close, one hand on Steve while the thermometer did its job. He was almost disappointed when he felt Bucky easing the instrument out. “Hmm,” Bucky murmured. “Little warm, but that’s probably normal enough for you. Go ahead and turn over again.”

Steve was uncomfortably aware of his bulk as he attempted to turn over, the paper ripping and shifting with him, amplifying his every movement. He settled on his back and stared up at the ceiling, feet flexing and heart beating faster than it should have been, considering the lack of exertion.

Bucky, meanwhile, discarded the glove before stepping into view, looking down at him with Steve’s very favorite sort of smile on his face. “Hey,” he said, leaning down and pressing a quick kiss to his mouth. Checking in. “You good?”

Steve nodded, though he chased after Bucky for one more kiss. “So good.”

Bucky smiled, giving him the quick peck he was after before straightening up and resuming his Very Serious Medical Exam. “Alright, so I’m just gonna...check you out here, Steve,” he said, placing his hands on either side of Steve’s neck and sort of...palpating them? Steve wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing. “Feels like your thyroid is um, there. And healthy. So good job.”

“Thanks, doc,” he said. Bucky was cute.

The good doctor turned his attention to Steve’s chest next, running his hands over the broad expanse of skin before flicking his right nipple. Funnily enough, Steve was somewhat sensitive in that particular area, and he yelped, squirming away just as Bucky repeated the action on the other side.

“Excellent responsiveness,” Bucky said, as though it were an accomplishment. “Good reflexes.”

Steve’s dick, which was lying thick and heavy against his stomach, agreed with Bucky’s assessment. Steve himself couldn’t find words, so he grunted, as Bucky went back to teasing him - pinching at his nipples until he was moaning, body arching up and toes curling while he gripped the sides of the table.

“Doc, please…”

“How _interesting_ ,” Bucky murmured. “Tell me, are you able to achieve orgasm from uh...this type of stimulation?”

Steve had no fucking clue. They’d never tried. But at that moment, he would have said anything to keep Bucky happy. So he nodded, which caused Bucky to clear his throat. “Might have to put that to the test later. But for now, there are uh...other considerations.”

Damn it.

Bucky began pressing his fingers against Steve’s abdomen, which wasn’t quite the sort of sensation Steve was interested in, but still felt nice - warm and fuzzy and a bit tickly, though tolerable.

“Any discomfort?” Bucky chose that moment to press down on the spot where Steve’s abdomen met his hip on his left side. A spot which Bucky knew damn well was sensitive - the nerves there had always been directly connected to Steve’s cock. He grunted, dick twitching and leaking a line of pre-come against his stomach. “Oh, sorry.” Bucky didn’t sound sorry. “Was that sore?”

“N-no. Feels. Uh. It’s good.”

Bucky repeated the action. Steve jerked up into the touch, closing his eyes, which meant he missed Bucky’s quick movement - metal hand sliding between his legs to cup his balls.

“Fuck,” Steve managed, legs parting instinctively as Bucky rolled the sensitive flesh between his fingers. God, he hated this new body sometimes. Hated that he was already close. That he couldn’t control himself long enough to extend their fun.

As if reading his mind, Bucky squeezed his sack firmly. Hard enough to hurt, in fact, and Steve’s eyes flew open with a pained grunt, reaching down to try and push Bucky’s hand away.

“Ow!”

“Standard reflex test,” Bucky replied, releasing him. “Sorry if it’s a little painful.”

“Jesus,” Steve muttered, reaching down to rub himself, taking much better care of all his tender parts than Bucky.

Bucky gave him a moment to recover before touching his leg. “Go ahead and turn over again.”

Steve flipped himself with more dignity that time, face still hot with embarrassment. Once he was settled, though, Bucky stepped closer and placed a hand on his lower back.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he said, in the tone of a parent scolding a small child. “On your knees - gotta check your prostate.”

Oh, God. Steve took in a deep breath, then pushed himself up onto all fours. He was sure he looked ridiculous - too big for the small table, all arms and legs and miles of pale, flushed skin.

“Mmm, not quite.” Christ, that was Bucky’s sex voice - he was turned on, too. “Spread your legs wider, and drop your elbows down.”

Steve obeyed and found himself in a position that was equal parts awful and amazing. He’d never felt more exposed in his life - ass in the air, legs spread, cock hanging heavy between his thighs.

“Excellent, Steve,” Bucky murmured, stepping closer, his breath hitching. “You’re going to feel my finger again.”

Bucky hadn’t bothered with a glove. Steve didn’t give a shit. One well-lubricated finger slipped past the tight ring of muscle at his entrance, pressing inside in a way that was both familiar and foreign. Steve moaned while Bucky shushed him, running his prosthetic up and down Steve’s outer thigh. “I know it feels funny,” he said, as though he didn’t have his fingers up Steve’s ass on a regular basis. “But I need to check.”

“Sure thing, doc,” he replied, before pushing back onto Bucky’s finger. Just enough that there was that first little _thrill_ of pleasure within.

Bucky let out another low chuckle as he began working his finger in and out, the rhythm slow and infuriating. “Eager, aren’t we? Gotta say, Cap, you’re one of my most...responsive patients.”

“You said that befo -oh _shit_.” There it was. Prostate achieved.

“Shame, actually,” Bucky said, introducing a second finger to the mix. The crinkly paper was done for, Steve’s grasping movements reducing it to scraps.

“Shame, doc?” It was hard to focus on the conversation, but he was going to try.

“Sure,” Bucky said. “Patients as responsive as you - gotta do a special sort of test. And, you know, I was really hoping to get out of here early.”

“Ungh.” There was no fucking way to be articulate when Bucky was massaging his prostate. “Test?”

“Test, yes,” he said, like Steve was some sort of dummy. “I swore an oath. I take that seriously. For my patients. Their health. So, I’m going to have to examine you until I’m sure I know everything there is to know about you.”

“Shit, yeah, alright,” he agreed, fucking Bucky’s fingers as much as he was able, needy and desperate. He wanted to _come,_ dammit, so he lifted an arm from the table, balancing precariously as he reached between his legs to fist his cock.

Swiftly, Bucky removed both fingers from his ass and gave him a hard smack. That was annoying, but at the same time it was a bit like a fly landing on an elephant: not important in the grand scheme of things. So he kept touching himself until Bucky grabbed his balls again, this time twisting and yanking back. Which, yep, that’d do it.

“Fuck _fucking_ fuck you.”  

“No self-restraint,” Bucky tutted. “That’s a shame, Captain Rogers. Get your hand off your dick.”

“Why?” he said, giving himself another couple of defiant strokes.

“Because I said so.” Bucky tightened his grip and Steve gritted his teeth. “I was hoping to have to avoid this but...seems you can’t be trusted to control yourself.”

“Huh?”

“Get. Your hand. Off. Your dick.” Bucky squeezed him again and Steve dropped his forehead to the table, releasing himself and nearly crying with the frustration of it all. “Better. On your back again.”

Steve knocked his head against the table a few times. He was tired of switching positions. Tired of his dick aching. Tired of this cold, stupid room. Tired of, well...no, he wasn’t tired of this. Truth be told, he wanted to see what Bucky had planned.

So he did as he was told, turning onto his back while Bucky fiddled with something at the bottom of the table.

Something that looked an awful lot like stirrups.

Shit.

“Go ahead and scoot down, Steve,” Bucky said, not bothering to hide the shit-eating grin on his ugly mug. “Gonna need you uh...fully exposed for the test.”

The Steve of an hour ago might have protested. Hell, the Steve of fifteen minutes ago might have put up a fight. This Steve, though? The one with precome streaked on his stomach, hole lubed up and twitching, sweat beading on his forehead and dick throbbing with want? He wasn’t in any position to worry about dignity.

So, he scooted. Let Bucky set his feet in the stirrups. Watched with mild interest as Bucky adjusted the top half of the table, so Steve was sitting halfway up with a view of his own bits on display. Never let it be said that Bucky Barnes wasn’t a generous guy.

“Now,” Bucky murmured, stepping closer and wrapping the fingers of his flesh hand around Steve’s wrist. “About that self-control.”

Turned out velcro wasn’t just for blood pressure cuffs. Steve had no idea why there were velcro restraints built into the exam table, but he wasn’t about to protest. Bucky tied him down easily, wrists bound with the straps, giving him a very limited range of motion.

“I know it’s not any fun,” Bucky said, stepping away to admire his handiwork. “But I can’t have you touching yourself - ruins the accuracy of the uh, measurements.”

Steve was ninety-nine percent sure he could rip right through the velcro. He had no desire to test that theory. “Sorry I’m so much work, doc.”

“All the best patients are.” Bucky smiled at him, patting his shoulder in a keen approximation of bedside manner. “I know you want to be good for me. Just hard sometimes, huh?”

Hard was putting it mildly. “Uh huh.”

Bucky moved between his legs again, settling in on the stool and adjusting the position of the stirrups - which meant spreading Steve’s legs as wide as they could go before screwing something into place that held the metal arms open. Fuck. Steve swallowed, eyes following Bucky’s every movement.

“So, first thing’s first.” Bucky scooted over to the desk on his stupid chair, then opened a drawer and rustled around in it. “Gotta see how you respond to a more intense sort of stimulation.”

Steve craned his neck to see what Bucky was holding. It was...a plug. Black and nondescript, but thicker than Bucky’s cock at its widest point. Considerably thicker, in fact. They hadn’t used a plug before, and Steve’s mouth went dry at the sight.

“That’s uh..pretty big, doc.”

“Yup,” Bucky agreed, popping the P. “S’probably gonna be painful, actually. But it’s for your own good.”

Steve snorted, raising an eyebrow. “How’s that, then?”

Bucky scowled and reached for what Steve had initially thought was hand sanitizer but now realized was a giant bottle of lube - thank fuck, the petroleum jelly wasn’t going to cut it.

“Because,” Bucky replied. “I said so. Now try and relax.”

Relaxation was relative. Steve was shaking by the time Bucky worked the plug inside of him through a combination of elbow grease and sheer grit. It hurt, there was no getting around it - by the time the handle was nestled between his cheeks he was sweating and trying not to think about how it was going to feel coming out.

“There, it’s in,” Bucky said, sitting back. Steve was pleased to note there was a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead as well. “Wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“Uh, no.” It hadn’t been _bad_ , but it had been different, and uncomfortable, and he was still adjusting to the feeling of being so goddamn full. His erection had waned throughout the insertion, which meant he didn’t have much to distract him from the literal pain in his ass. Fuck, he wished Bucky would touch him.

Bucky did him one better, pulling a little black box out of his pocket and pressing a button on the surface, which made the plug spring to life, happily buzzing away inside an unsuspecting Steve.

“Oh, fuck _me_ ,” Steve yelped, hips arching off the table. Bucky was faster than that, standing and placing a hand on his stomach to shove him back down.

“Hold still, Cap,” he said. “Geez, didn’t think you’d have that much of a reaction to level _two_.”

“Two?” Steve both loved and hated the sound of that.

Bucky shrugged, holding the remote out to Steve, who noted that the display could get to at least double digits. Whether that meant level ten or level ninety-nine, however, he was left to wonder. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. “Doc…”

“If you’ll excuse me, Captain, I’ve got some paperwork to do while we let the test run its course.”

Steve’s eyes went wide, and he watched, helpless, as Bucky crossed back to the desk and sat down, pulling the dumb, fake chart closer. 

The thing was, Steve knew he could end it. Knew he could fight his bondage, use the safeword, just stand up and fucking tell Bucky they were done.

But he didn’t. Because he liked it. Liked laying there while Bucky ignored him. Definitely liked it when Bucky reached over to up the level every few minutes. Three was bliss, four was a fucking dream. Five had him nearly sobbing. He’d never felt anything so intense in his life, and while he knew there were people in the world who were into weirder, kinkier, sexier stuff, he didn’t care. This was his - Bucky was his - and Bucky was doing this for him.

 

 

Another touch of the remote and Steve howled, hips fucking uselessly into the cool air of the room, desperate for any friction against his wholly neglected cock. Bucky ignored his complaints, his only acknowledgment of Steve’s predicament was reaching over to nudge the vibrations up another notch. Steve closed his eyes and whined.

At some point, he lost count of whatever ‘level’ he was on, focused only on the throbbing between his legs and the relentless pleasure being driven into him. Eventually, after what felt like years, Bucky got up and came over to check in, remote in hand.

“How ya feeling?” he asked, knocking it up another level.

Steve yelped, shaking his head from side to side. “Too much, doc. Can’t…”

“Can’t what?” Bucky was a shit. “Gonna need you to use your words, pal. For the sake of science.”

“You gotta touch me,” he whined. “Please, Buck. C’mon, I’m gonna explode, I swear to God…”

Bucky looked very concerned as he brought his right hand up to brush Steve’s sweaty hair out of his eyes. “S’that better?”

What a fucker. Steve was doing his best to come up with a litany of insults to level at Bucky, which Bucky maybe saw coming because he chose that moment to crank the vibrations up to approximately one million. Steve’s intended verbal assault came out as garbled mishmash that sounded vaguely like ‘glurg,’ stars exploding in front of his eyes. Everything went fuzzy, and there was something wet on his stomach. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_. That was. Had he come? Was that coming? Or maybe he’d died. Probably that was it.

“Oh my God.” Bucky’s voice. Not dead, then. The vibrations stopped, and Bucky’s hand was on his chest, and then Bucky’s lips were brushing against his and that was so _nice_. Made him smile. “Shit. Shit, Stevie. I didn’t even touch you. Fuck me, I didn’t know you could do that.”

“Thought thas’what the test was for, doc,” he said, not wanting to end the game yet. Wanted to play just a little longer because that had been incredible, and he loved Bucky. Loved playing with Bucky.

Bucky seemed taken aback, a pleased grin on his face before he schooled his expression into something resembling professionalism. “Uh, no,” he said. “The test was actually to see how long you’d last before begging.”

“Oh.” Steve grinned. “Sorry?”

“No, this was uh...much more relevant research.” Leaning over, Bucky pressed his lips to Steve’s forehead, which wasn’t strictly something a doctor ought to do, but Steve would allow it. “Want me to get that plug out of your ass, now that we’re done with the test?”

“Uh huh.” Anything Bucky wanted to do sounded like the best idea he’d ever heard, which was probably some sort of post-orgasm high, but who cared? He was happy and relaxed - a rare and potent combination.

Bucky took his time, carefully easing the plug past Steve’s rim. Unfortunately, the pleasant haze leftover from his orgasm wasn’t quite enough to dull the pain of that particular sensation.

“You’re alright,” Bucky murmured, setting the toy on a tray before rubbing Steve’s thighs in a way that was so intimate and careful he could have wept from it. Stupid, really, but there they were.

“Thanks, doc,” he said, clearing his throat.

“Christ, Steve,” Bucky smiled, looking up at him. “You ought to see yourself. All stretched out and...well. Too bad that boyfriend of yours isn’t here. He could slide right in.”

Steve’s softening prick gave an interested jump and while two orgasms in such a short time weren’t going to happen, he appreciated his libido making an effort. Shifting his weight, he looked at Bucky and cocked his head to the side. “Y’know, doc, you kinda...bear a passing resemblance to him.”

Bucky bit back a smile. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” Steve shrugged. “So if _you_ wanted to be the one to uh...slide right in? He wouldn’t have to know. Our little secret, right?”

“Hmm.” Bucky raised an eyebrow, leaning over him and bringing a hand up to grip Steve’s chin. “I think if I were your boyfriend and I heard you say some dumb shit like that, I’d spank your ass until you couldn’t sit down and make you walk around with that plug in for a goddamn month.”

Steve’s heartbeat quickened and he swallowed. “But uh...you won’t tell him. Right, doc?”

Bucky grinned, slow and lazy, reaching down to pop the button on his highly professional black trousers. “Steve, give me some credit. Code of ethics over here. Medical professional.” He unzipped his fly, pulling his cock out and giving himself a couple strokes for good measure. “So what I’m gonna do is, I’m gonna fuck you. Then I’m gonna call your boyfriend and tell him _exactly_ what you let me do to you, and what he should do to you for it. Fair?”

Exceedingly fair. Steve managed a nod before Bucky was lining up and pushing in, not bothering with lube because Steve was still plenty slick and open. And shit, wasn’t that an appealing thought? An object to be used - some dumb, human-shaped puppet, only there for the fucking.

Well, hey, there was an idea for next time.

“Goddamn, you feel good,” Bucky grunted. “Tighten up a little, will ya?”

“Yeah, Buck,” he said, clenching down as best he could. “I mean, doc.”

“Yeah, you do,” Bucky said, nearly pulling out completely before slamming back in with a moan. Steve wasn’t sure what Bucky was referring to, precisely, but if they spent time parsing one another’s stupid sex patter, they’d never get anything done.

 

 

Sometimes Bucky was slow, taking his time, romantic in a way that set Steve blushing. This wasn’t one of those; there was a frenzied intensity to Bucky’s thrusts, red-faced and frantic as he fucked Steve hard without any real rhythm. There was only so much Steve could do without breaking his restraints, and he tried to match Bucky’s movements without crushing the table where he was gripping it. Easier said than done.

“So good,” Bucky choked out, head thrown back in a way that meant he was close, because his tells were wonderfully obvious. “So good for me, Steve.”

 _Very_ good, in fact, and he clenched down just as Bucky pushed back in. That was enough to send Bucky over the edge, gasping for breath and holding himself upright through his orgasm before collapsing onto Steve’s chest.

Steve was desperate to hold him, but the restraints were in the way. So he broke them, snapping the velcro clean off the table and wrapping Bucky up tightly, hugging him until neither of them needed it anymore.

“Thank you,” Steve mumbled when enough time had passed.

Bucky pulled back enough that he could look Steve in the eye. “For what?”

“Uh… all of this?” Steve gestured around the room, bashful now that it was over. “I know it’s not your thing.”

“Jesus, Steve,” Bucky grinned, dropping his head back down to Steve’s chest. “Shut up. Of course this is my thing, you ass.”

“It...really?”

“Rogers, I love the shit out of you,” Bucky replied, leaning up for a kiss. “But you’re a real dope sometimes. I’m gonna get you cleaned up, alright?”

Steve couldn’t help smiling. “Alright.”

Being taken care of was overwhelming, regardless of what they’d just done. Bucky sat him up, then wiped him down and even helped him into his clothes. Steve didn’t need it - he felt fine - but the casual intimacy of the actions was something else.

When Bucky crouched down to start putting his socks on for him, Steve cleared his throat.

“I can do that, Buck.”

“Yeah, you can,” Bucky agreed, lifting Steve’s foot and pressing a kiss to his ankle. “But I’m going to. So let me.”

Steve did - even let Bucky put his shoes on for him. After that, Steve was sent to the chair by the door to wait while Bucky cleaned up. It didn’t take long and mostly involved replacing the paper on the table, slipping the plug and lube discreetly into a bag he’d hidden underneath the desk, and placing the broken velcro straps on the instrument tray.

“Stark can afford new ones,” Bucky muttered, before holding out a hand to Steve.

Mercifully, they didn’t pass another soul on the way back to their quarters. Bucky sent Steve to change while he put their leftovers from the night before in the microwave. Soon enough, they were settling on the sofa in boxers and undershirts, legs tangled as they leaned against their respective pillows.

“Hey,” Steve said after a few minutes of silent chewing.”Did you mean that thing about uh, you know, spanking me and making me wear the plug for a month?”

Bucky speared a single green bean and bit off the end, chewing and swallowing before responding. “No. That was just the doctor’s suggestion.”

“Oh.” Steve tried his best to hide his disappointment. “Alright.”

Another green bean, another minute of chewing. “Your _boyfriend_ , on the other hand, has something much worse planned, you cheating bastard.”

Steve grinned. They’d have to make a list.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! You can find us on Tumblr at [notlucy](https://notlucy.tumblr.com) and [thefilthiestpiglet](https://thefilthiestpiglet.tumblr.com). If you enjoyed the story and art, we'd love it if you helped spread the word with a like or a [reblog](https://notlucy.tumblr.com/post/172384521647/doctor-feelgood).
> 
> Special thanks to [chemegeek](https://chemegeek.tumblr.com) and [awwtopsy](https://awwtopsy.tumblr.com) for their beta work.


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